The Black Notebook
by Twinings
Summary: Once upon a time, the Joker had a protege. She did not work well with others. [Notebook Four]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. I also don't own Superman. I could claim to own Liss, but she would probably beat me up for saying so.

I would like to say thank you to everyone who reads my stories. Your reviews mean a lot to me, and even though I may not thank you personally, still, thank you. And those of you who read but don't review, thank you, too. You make life worth living and stories worth writing.

This is the final chapter in the original Notebooks series (The Purple Notebook, The Wide-Ruled Notebook, and The New Purple Notebook being the first three installments.) I do hope you have enjoyed it so far, and will enjoy what is to come.

* * *

The Black Notebook

Or

My Own Way

My name is Melissa, but no one calls me that. I was once called Liss, but that is gone as well. I now have many names, the best-known of which is "Flapper," but most people only say "F—" because that's as far as they get before I kill them.

Well, no. But it sounds cool.

Actually, I haven't killed many people. I'm more for stealing. I steal only from those who can afford to lose it, and only if it's a challenge. And most of the profits I don't immediately use to go charity. Hooray for me, I'm just like Robin Hood.

I used to live in Gotham City, but so many people I used to know kept spotting me, I decided to make my headquarters in Metropolis. Maybe that wasn't the best idea, but I'm new at this. I've only been a criminal for a couple of years. Anyway, I move around a lot. I have little houses all over Europe, one in Japan, one in southern China, and a palace in Calcutta. I have an apartment in Metropolis, which is where I am right now.

Superman is cooler than I used to think. I am glad I haven't gone up against him yet because I really doubt that I could beat him. I have been training, though, and I think I could take Batman. (Well, maybe if he was drunk or something.)

I used to have a bunch of followers, but they've been disbanded. This chick flies solo. (Hee hee hee.)

--

I'm starting up the journals again because it helps me focus. I'm going to have to focus because I'm about to pull a tough job. Biggest emerald in the world. (In Calcutta they call me Esmeralda.)

Win or lose I want the world to know who I am.

--

I wish that I could change the world. I'm doing the best I can. I rob those who can afford the loss and I give what I don't need to people who do. The only people I've killed were murderers themselves (I've even almost gotten caught rather than take the easy way out and kill the cops.) I've driven God knows how many less clement criminals out of the business. Is clement the right word? (Aw, hell, I promised I wouldn't interrupt myself.)

I have no illusions about being a hero. I know if I'm caught I'll go to prison or maybe an asylum, though I don't feel crazy to me.

I guess I just want you to know that I'm not all bad?

--

Here I am in my skintight black leather. The museum closes in an hour. I've been practicing all afternoon. My hands are a little shaky. Have to work on that. Got a little pain in my knee. If I don't put too much weight on it I should be all right. An aspirin would help, but it would slow me down. Wish I knew if I was going to go up against anyone tonight.

Getting a little crampy. If this was a normal job, I would put it off or just give up altogether, but this is the biggest emerald in the world. It's a matter of pride.

--

I went in an hour after closing. I watched the movements of the night guards for a while until I knew their patterns. Then I slipped past the alarms, all _Mission Impossible._ (No theme music.) I was slipping the jewel (beautiful) into my little knapsack when I heard the sound of a guard outside. As he shone his flashlight into the room, I hit behind a statue. (It's hard to stay in that position for even a minute. How must Venus feel after two thousand years.) My weight was on my bad knee, but I managed not to wobble. The light stopped on the emerald's empty display case, and I thought I was caught. Then I heard two voices speaking casually, and the light moved on.

Big sigh of relief. I slipped out the window and was about to climb down my little rope when I heard it.

The Man of Steel, coming right for me. Scared the hell out of me, too. I let go of the rope to land on my feet and take off running, maybe hide in the bushes. Well, I landed on my feet but then my knee gave out and I fell flat on my face. (Mortifying.) I dropped the jewel a little way away. Superman landed in front of me just as I managed to stand up.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as if he actually cared about me. (He has a sexy voice, you know, but he's a little beefy for my tastes.) I nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. "I'm going to have to stop you."

"You can have the emerald back," I said, pointing at my little black bag on the ground. He looked like he thought it was a trick. "No, really. I've lost, so I don't deserve the prize. I know when I'm outnumbered."

"I have to bring you in, too." I smiled at that.

"You know, I've never been caught. It's a matter of honour; I'll fight you for this one." After I had a half a second to think about it, I added, "Go easy on me, though. My knee hurts."

He agreed, which was very nice of him.

I'm proud to say I drew first blood (symbolically, that is—he doesn't bleed, per se.) But he drew all the rest.

He fought me on the ground instead of flying—his version of going easy. Made me think of Batman with fond memories.

I knew if I was going to do any damage it would have to come fast, before he got a good measure of my abilities. I came at him moving slower than normal, then at the last second I sped up to my fullest. I threw a punch, jumped, kicked, spun and kicked again. It was beautiful, but that second kick killed me. My goddamn knee again. After that I didn't have a chance.

Broken hand, broken nose, knee twisted all to hell, and – ahem – I don't be able to sit straight for a while.

And I did all this to myself. He hardly laid a hand on me. I guess now I know why they call him the Man of Steel. My _hand_...

I was lying there on the ground, bleeding from my nose and my split lip (it got my mask all nasty but it looked very romantic. By which I mean the literary style, not rip off your clothes and roll around in rose petals.) I looked up at him with that little smudge of dirt in the corner of his mouth, the only mark on him, and I just wanted to get up and slap him. Of course I couldn't with a broken hand, wounded knee, and whatever else wrong from when I fell flat on my ass. (If you can't laugh at yourself, someone else will.)

"Give up?" he asked, and I wanted to hit him even more.

Since I couldn't, I just said, "No, sir." (I can call him "sir," the guy must be in his thirties at least.)

"Do you really want to die just because I beat you? It wasn't a fair fight."

"Who wants to die?" I said. "But I've _never_ been caught. It's a matter of honour." He seemed a little surprised and a little impressed.

"Then I guess I have no choice." He picked up my bag with the emerald inside. "Since you already gave back the jewel, I'll let you off with a warning. On one condition. Let me know who you really are." He reached for my mask. Reflexively, I put my hands in front of my face. Then, reluctantly, I put them down. He has X-Ray Vision. Asking my permission was only a form of courtesy.

He's very gentle for a man so beefy, so very strong. It still hurt like hell when he hit my nose. I didn't make a move, but I'm guessing he knew. He lifted off my mask, took a good look at my face, and pulled it back down again.

"Do you have a name?" he asked me.

"You know what they call me." (Now there's the old fighting spirit.)

"Yes, but what did your mother call you?" I smiled at that.

"My mother called me darling."

"All right, Darling," he said, flying my little bag up to the window. When he got back, I was gone.

Superman fought me. It must have been a slow week.


	2. Chapter 2

Looks like I'm getting the biggest shiner in the history of black eyes. Cool, battle scars! I went to the hospital as Melissa. They thought I was another one of those pathetic little noodle-girls who are always "falling" onto their boyfriends' fists. I didn't do anything to change their minds, but I find it sad that that's the first thing they would believe. Like I would stay with someone like that anyway! Actually, I haven't dated anyone since high school. But this gives me a good cover story.

I think it's about time for me to skip out.

--

I'm writing on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I'm headed for Rome for some rest and relaxation, a little vacation from crime and crime-fighter-fighting. I have to remember to get my suit dry-cleaned. I should have done that before I left.

There's the most charming little boy in the seat beside me. He's flying alone for the first time, and he keeps climbing over me to look out the window.

Now what kind of parents would send their seven-year-old to Rome alone?

--

Mark is asleep. What a cute kid.

After I rest up in Rome I plan to head back to London for a while. London is the best. First I have to let all my bones heal.

I hope I get to fight that guy again, at my best.

--

Poor little guy. I got off the plan with Mark and saw his face just fall. There was no one there to meet him. I waited with him, but no one ever showed up.

It turned out that he was supposed to go to Florida to spend a week with his dad. (How did he wind up on the plane to Roma?) I got him to tell me the phone numbers for both of his parents, and I called them both. I didn't get an answer at either place. I was going to just buy him a new ticket and put him on the right plane, but I don't want to send him off if there's no one to meet him.

I may be evil, but I do have a soft spot for children.

So he's coming home with me. Just until I get in touch with his family.

--

The house was occupied by a bunch of homeless kids. I give them free access when I'm away, and I let them stay when I'm around provided they leave me alone. I don't bother them, they don't bother me. I pay one kid to maintain order while I'm away. Anyway, there were a few kids here, but most of them cleared out when I got home. It's just me, little Mark, Candy (my permanent) and a couple of others who were afraid to come near me after I let it slip that I tangled with Superman and lived. (They don't seem to care that I lost.)

Soon after we got in, I holed up in my room, took a couple of painkillers, and fell dead asleep. I didn't wake up until just after 9:00, local time.

I went down to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, and I found Mark scrambling eggs. I could come to love this kid.

--

No luck finding Mark's family. Can I keep him?

I'll bring him back to Metropolis with me when I'm done here. London will have to wait.

--

(page missing)

--

It will give me a chance to heal all the way, at least.

Still no luck with Mark's family. I took him with me to town and two different people asked me if he was my son. I would have been fifteen when he was born, so _no._ I am starting to feel like one of those terrible (or terribly ill) (or terribly drunk or hung over) mothers from the TV movies whose small children have to take care of them. Of course, I'm taking care of him, too.

--

The script is coming along. I still can't believe they want to make a movie about _me._ Well, I have always loved Italian cinema.

Dario asked (against his better judgment, no doubt) if I wanted to act. My acting skills are mediocre at best, and besides, to play myself I would have to go without the mask, and I don't want that kind of publicity. (It would ruin my career.) I am going to bring Candy to the auditions. Her dream is to become a movie star. She was doing some acting before I met her, but she decided to stick with me because I pay better and I don't make her get tied up, whipped and fondled in an antique chorus girl costume on a regular basis.

--

Whoo. Candy is playing Batgirl. A very minor role, but I'm happy for her.

Dario's going to email me the script when it gets finished, just so I can make sure I have no objections.

I'm getting restless, so Mark and I are going back to Metropolis. It seems so soon to lose him, but I can't be selfish and keep him from his family. Maybe we'll stop by Gotham first.

I guess I never did have the patience to sit there and "recover." Far too much to do. I can't stand to be bored.

Not that I'm that bored. But I'm comfortable, and that's almost as bad. If I don't keep working, I'll slip back down to what I used to be, going down the ranks from Master to Leader-Type to Henchman, all the way back down to Victim. I don't want to go back to being a helpless, scared kid. I like being the woman who fought Superman. Badly. But all that matters is that I'm standing here, free. I want to keep it that way.

--

Here we are on the plane. The plane to Metropolis. Mark is sleeping, curled up against my side.

Will he be all right when I send him home?

And who will take care of me when he's gone?


	3. Chapter 3

Oh fuck.

We went to his house only to find that there was no one there. His mother is gone. According to the neighbours she ran off with her stoner boyfriend. God, I hate people. At least I get to keep my bud.

--

I took the kiddo to the park, but we left soon because this creepy man kept staring at me. Maybe I'm just paranoid, I don't know.

Soon after we left I ran into an old acquaintance. We're taking the train to Gotham, Mark and I, because he's never ridden on a train before.

--

It's times like this I'd like to be a mother.

This boy of mine doesn't want to leave me. He likes me more than his mom or his dad, and he doesn't want to go to Florida. Of course I'm still taking him, still the responsible adult, but that doesn't mean we can't stretch out the in-between time a bit.

--

Ah, Gotham, my old stomping ground. I haven't been here since the end of notebook three.

When my brother got married, he and his wife moved into the suburbs outside of Gotham, the very place where Dad grew up. When we were moving in furniture, Dad kept calling the place his "old stomping ground." I thought he was just being silly, but then he pointed out these bent-over, shriveled-looking little pine trees lining the sidewalk.

"Those were planted when I lived down the street," he said. "My friends and I would stomp on them every morning on the way to school." And he made this stomping motion…eh, I guess it's really more of a visual joke.

I wonder how the family's doing.

Well. Mark and I checked into a hotel. I promised to take him sightseeing…later. Right now I have to do some things. I hate leaving Mark alone but I sure can't take him with me.

I gave him instructions: if anything happens or I don't come back in two hours, he should call the phone number I gave him, ask for Robin G------, and say he's a friend of Liss's. (I hope D--- remembers me.)

I'm leaving the notebook so he can check if he forgets. Those two names need to be scribbled out as soon as possible. And, Mark, if you read any part of the notebook but this page…I will know.

Love ya, kid.

--

My research is complete. The Joker is in Arkham with slightly less chance of escaping than usual. I'm semi-safe on that front.

While I was out, I went to the museum. I left a little diamond chip I swiped last spring with a note for the Caped Crusader. Set off an alarm just as I was leaving, but was gone before anyone arrived.

I've started reading _Watchmen_ again and I suspect Rorschach's fragmentary style will rub off on me like last time. Think I've grown up a little—I'm not put off by the maskless version anymore.

I wonder if Mark is old enough for this stuff? Maybe I could give him the censored version as a bedtime story. No, I'm sounding like a twat.

--

Once upon a time…

I took Mark with me to the old elementary school baseball field, and sure enough in a few minutes the Batmobile pulled up.

"You know Batman?" Mark yelled as he jumped up and down. (Taking him for an ice cream cone first was probably not the best idea I've ever had.) I was in costume, but the mask was hanging down my back so I could eat my cone, and so they would know it was me—after all, they've never seen me in this costume. Also, my hand was still in that damn cast, which spoiled the effect even more than my bare face.

Batman got out of the car followed by Robin. Batgirl didn't show this time. They say she's been cutting down on her Batwork and doing something else terribly important, nature unspecified.

Not important. Batman greeted me while Mark had himself a fit.

"Is he yours?" Batman asked.

"He's a lost boy," I said. "He's mine until I find his father." At that Mark stopped bouncing around and pouted. I finished my ice cream and put my mask back on. Batman noticed the cast on my hand.

"I met your friend Superman," I explained. "Nice guy."

We talked about various things, most of which I'd rather not record at present. Don't want all my secrets to fall into the wrong hands, or for my old acquaintance to get killed on my account—and he would, you know, if you-know-who knew you-know-what. Informantating can be a nasty business. Suffice it to say something is coming and I thought Batman ought to know about it. It's something I've anticipated for a while, something that would have amused me once, something I sure as heckfire don't want to stick around for now.

Ah, what the hell, I've never been good with riddles. The Joker and the Riddler are teaming up.

Run away!

I know I will.

--

Batman wants to trust me. I want to be trusted. Isn't that the damnedest thing?

The Joker, the boss, I've officially betrayed him now. I mean, there's just no question, is there? Now he'll really have a reason to kill me if he sees me. But…I don't want this to happen. I _really_ don't want _him_ escaping from Arkham if there's anything I can do about it. Funny, he's almost the only thing that can make me smile, but he's also the only thing that really scares me.

--

I've also gotten caught up on all my old friends, though I certainly won't be seeing any of them while I'm here.

Stephanie and Jason are living together and are supposed to be quite the happy couple, The Moores with a white picket fence and, someday, marriage and children. Celia quit school to become an actress, and after getting a part in a soap opera, realized that she hates acting. Too bad, I would have taken her to Italy. On last week's episode her estranged half-sister Madelain killed her by burning down her house while she was trapped in the bedroom with Madelain's husband. She now paints portraits in Gotham Park. Dick and Barbara were dating until recently, but they've broken up. Dick lives in Bludhaven now. He's a cop. Good boy, Dick.

I wonder what would happen if I just showed up one day among the old group? I'm supposed to be dead, you know.

--

Oh, Mark. Poor little guy. Seven-year-olds were not meant to stay up so late. My little guy. He is mine.

Now I get to make him breakfast.

--

Maybe all that time I spent with the Joker affected me more than I thought. I know I shouldn't do this, but I just want to see my friends again. More than that, I just want to see their reactions when I show up unannounced. I'm going to wait until Mark wakes up a little and take him with me.

--

Ah, beauty, beauty, beauty. Sweetness, thy name is Jason. Love, thy eyes are green.

Oh, how I've missed this. Mooning over Jason, driving myself to insanity over what they all thought of me. Only now I stand much more of a chance of their actually thinking something. So much more interesting am I now than when I flipped burgers for a living, so much more complicated than the sweet innocent, good little girl I was and would still be. Am I quietly hated or loudly loved? Or both?

I decided to go to Celia first. Individual meetings would be easier on everyone involved. Oh, Celia. I have missed you. I have missed you all.

Celia was in the park, painting a couple who were snuggled against each other. They were her only customers. I set Mark to watching her while I walked around the back, just sort of peeking. Oh, Cel, my beautiful friend. I hadn't even realized how much I missed you.

She didn't see me, so I made it behind her and got a look at the cute little couple. Well, what do you know. It's a small world after all.

Jason and Stephanie are married.

Jason saw me and recognized me, jumped to his feet, knocking Stephanie off the bench, and grabbed me before I had a chance to realize he was going to do anything. (Yeah, buddy, that's a great way to treat your wife.)

I knocked him down, grabbed Mark, and ran. Bad knee or no bad knee, I ran like the wind. They couldn't catch me.

I called Celia when I got back to the hotel.

--

Pretty fucking empty. Would kill myself except I just don't quite see the point.

--

God, God, why am I here? If I don't even know, then what the hell is the point? I should give Mark back, no matter how good he is to me. I don't deserve a child this good. I'm a terrible mother. Very bad criminal, too. I mean, wealthy, but an utter failure. You know?

Lately, because of Mark, I've been thinking of settling down, giving up my life of crime. Batman would be proud, and God knows I'm set financially. But what would be the point? For what purpose a dull and normal life? To what end ordinariness?

--

Oh, fucking shit. Today I was supposed to meet Celia again, maybe get out of this funk, stop scaring Mark, remember that I do have a friend who never stopped caring about me.

But instead I'm skipping town. Joker's out. Of all the old friends I _don't_ want to see, he tops the list.


	4. Chapter 4

On the train to the Sunshine State. What a bright and cheerful name. Ugh.

After I give Mark back and say goodbye to my last chance at a normal life, I want to go somewhere solitary. Maybe my place in China. Or maybe I'll go to South America and live among the natives, a dirt-poor banana farmer with no chance to _be_ anything. I don't feel like stealing anything. My ass hurts. Thank you, Superman.

--

My career has lost its romance. Maybe it's time for a midlife crisis, but, for God's sake, what's more spectacular than an internationally famed jewel thief?

I hope it's not a midlife crisis because that means I'll live to be 42.

--

God DAMN I hate people. Even if it isn't his fault.

Mark's father is dead. Car accident. On his way to the airport, no less. Poor little boy.

But now he's mine, which is the best news I've had all week and entirely terrifying.

Now I have to settle down. I'll let Mark pick one of my houses and we'll stay there. I love this boy.

Going back to Metropolis now to pick up a few things.

--

Mark wants to live in London and I confess I've always wanted to live there myself, so here we go. I've decided to go by ship since neither of us has before. I wonder if it will look strange for me not to have a job. Should I get one?

--

We shove off tomorrow from the New World back to the Old.

I feel so _good._ I don't remember the last time I felt this good. Don't care that Jason is married. To my _friend_. Maybe I do care. But maybe I'll meet a nice man with an accent.

Not afraid of the boss. He wouldn't spoil my good mood.

I think I'm happy.

--

Our ship is called _Turnabout,_ a name rife with symbolism. Or not.

--

I've sent word ahead for documents to be made up so Mark can start school. I've kept him out entirely too long.

Maybe it's time for me to stop writing this now. Oh…but there's so much room.

It doesn't have to be a Notebook. Can't I just keep a diary?

Maybe I'm kidding myself, and I'll go back to crime the minute I get bored. But if I do, I'll be very quiet about it. I think I'm more like Catwoman than the boss. I don't need to make a splash. Do I?

--

Mark is a little seasick. I would like to

--

God God oh God my God oh God God God please give him back.

Please? This is me praying. This is Liss renouncing atheism once and for all. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

Please don't let this be true. I want to wake up now. Please. You can have me instead.

PLEASE!

Amen.

--

We were on deck. I was writing and trying to think of what to do for seasickness when something hit us. It was bright green. That was all I saw of it. It tore the ship apart. I was very nearly the only survivor. Oh, Mark.

Superman and Wonder Woman came to save us. Superman disappeared, went to fight the thing, I guess. Wonder Woman picked up the survivors. She saved me and six others, a number of Titanic proportions. Except with me it was seven. Lucky Seven. Is that a cigarette? I wish I smoked. I wish...

Wonder Woman flew us lucky seven to the nearest hospital, which happened to be in Gotham. I wonder when the Joker will come and kill me. Will he even find out I'm here? Does _he_ even care?

Maybe someday I'll describe how Mark died, how he looked when he was drowning, reaching out to me. I couldn't save him.

--

I am on the roof of the hospital. They don't know yet that I've gone. I see the Batsignal against the sky. Someone somewhere is committing a crime. Is it me?

Gotham is beautiful at night. I want to see it from a hero's view for a change. They all fly, one way or another. Maybe I'll just go up and up and up, and never know when I hit the ground.

This is my last legacy to a world that probably doesn't care.


	5. Chapter 5

_(The remainder of this notebook has been badly mutilated. Numerous pages have been ripped out. Others have been violently scratched out with a pen, rendered unreadable and in some cases torn to shreds. A few fragments of writing are all that is left. The most coherent are included here:)_

_--_

Damn you, Superman. Damn you for catching me.

--

I'm making my home in a corner of the Batcave because the World's Great Heroes couldn't think of anywhere better to put me. Superman recognized me after he snatched me from my flight and apparently felt I bore watching. I don't much care.

This bit of the Batcave is nice considering B----, A-----, and J---- (the new Robin) are a bunch of stodgy old bachelors. I'm not supposed to know who they are but I do, and I let them know it so they could stop wearing those silly masks around me.

I want to go home but I don't have one.

--

Batman just left me. My God that man is sexy. Even if he could be my father. He was Batman when he came, not -----. He says he wants my help. I told him to go f-----------.

--

The fusty old man has cleaned my uniform.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My mask is staring at me. My _cape_ is staring at me.

I don't know why I put a cape on this thing.

Every schoolchild playing Capes and Masks on the playground knows that capes are the good guys, and masks are the bad guys.

And the mask is saying that Bats is right, I should get dressed and go draw some blood. That would make me feel better. It doesn't even matter whose blood, as long as it's not clean.

I'm not quite sure what the cape is saying.

--

I just got off the phone with Candy. I explained the entire situation to her, and she said she was sorry. Empty fucking words. She'll take care of my things. That's her job. I just want her to do her job. I don't want to tell her I love her.

--

I went out with Bats tonight. It wasn't fun.

Robin knows how to make me smile.

Want to go home.

--

I'm feeling more useless by the hour.

Speaking of which, it's noon. Time for me to go.

--

Jason and Stephanie live in a very nice little apartment.

I arrived a little after 12:30 and knocked on the door. Jason answered. He was absolutely shocked to see me. (Probably because I was in costume.)

"Who is that?" said a disembodied voice that turned out to be Stephanie's. She appeared in the doorway and stared at me. I noticed she was wearing a very beautiful engagement ring. Oddly enough, I don't hate her for it. I would have, even a month ago.

I did, even a month ago.

I talked to them about-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--

Then I took off. My next stop was another old friend.

That good old Joker has changed locations, but he wasn't so hard to find. Then again, I know more about the situation than most.

I went past the guards unchallenged (though I'm sure they set off an alarm to let the boss know I was coming.) I had switched my mask for a half-mask and done the exposed part of my face with just a bit of geisha makeup…just to make him wonder. I must say I looked like a cross between one of the Joker's boys (we were all his "boys" except when it suited him to think of Harley or me as a woman) and an earless girl Batman. Very schizophrenic. I thought he would appreciate that.

I approached the throne. (Vain, isn't he?) Harley was doing lazy little cartwheels and such by his side, hiding the gun I knew she had. There were a couple of thugs who stepped back to guard the door, who didn't bother hiding their guns (but they weren't aiming at me yet, either.) And then, of course, the boss himself had God knows what on him. I was the only one unarmed in the room.

Riddler wasn't there. Either they haven't gotten together yet, or he skipped out. Or else Batman already got him. Always a possibility. Bats doesn't always tell me what he's up to. I guess I don't encourage him.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, my little flapper has come back," he said. His grin suddenly turned into a scowl. "What do you want?" Frowning his hard for him to do, not to mention physically painful. He was pissed. (I guess I would be mad at me, too.) But if he stayed in a bad mood I knew I woulnd't get anywhere (except maybe Heaven. Or Hell.)

"I'm not the Flapper anymore, boss," I said. "Haven't you heard? My last official name was Esmeralda. I was thinking of being just Liss again, but I changed my mind. Or rather, my reasons changed positions. Now I've somehow landed the role of hero. Don't go for the gun; I'm not here to stop you. I'm not posing you any threat."

"Then what do you want?" he asked.

"I've come to ask a favor."

"You know, Chuckles, you're not giving me any good reason not to shoot you."

"Like reason has anything to do with you," I said. "Listen, boss…You know, I still can't get out of the habit of thinking of you as my boss. I never thanked you for it, but you taught me almost everything I know."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, almost. You never taught me about revenge." The guards put their guns away, and Harley settled to sit at the boss's feet. Why that was a signal for them to relax I don't know…but apparently it was.

"Really?" the boss said. "I would have thought all that double-crossing we did in those good old days would have taught you something." He grinned again, fondly reminiscing.

"That taught me about betrayal, not revenge. You want to hear a story, boss?"

"Yeah," he said, sitting back in his throne. "Tell us a story."

"Once upon a time, there was a girl named Liss. She was a very normal girl, until she was kidnapped and held captive by the Joker. At that time, she tried hard not to let anyone know it, and she didn't quite understand herself, but she knew that life wasn't really worth it. Yet living with the Joker made her oddly happy. He made her smile. Life was worth living. But she couldn't decide which life. Did she belong with her friends who cared about her, in the world of Batman who would become a father figure? Or did she belong with the criminals who didn't really give a damn but sure made things interesting, in the world of the Joker who would also become a father figure? She played both sides and found that neither was right for her. She took what she had learned and moved on, building her own criminal empire, with the loyalty of thousands of homeless kids all over the world. She stole billions of dollars' worth of jewels, and earned the support of the populace by giving most of it away. She was never caught by the police, although she had enough close calls to keep things real. She tangled with Superman once and got beat to bloody hell, but she survived it. He didn't even take her in. She was lucky. She went to Italy to recover, and there she met a little lost boy and took him in and loved him. It was love, you see. He made her smile not because he was particularly interesting, but because he loved her and she loved him. She decided to live happily ever after. They were on their way to retirement when he was murdered. And I want my revenge."

He laughed, just a little. I was smiling as hard as I could.

"That's an interesting story, Flappie. But it doesn't quite tell me why you came to me for help."

I burst into tears then. Stupidest move I could have made, to cry in front of this guy. He liked me because he could make me laugh, and because I could make him laugh. That's why I'm still alive. Not because of any real emotions. Just because of a shared laugh where two sane people would have had…I don't know, something else.

"I just want to know if it was you." I couldn't look at him. "If you had anything to do with it, if you found out where I was and decided to come after me…I just want to know before I die."

"Hey, Flappie," he said. I looked up at him then, still crying, knowing he was about to shoot me or hit me with the Joker venom or do something even worse that would somehow make me giggle before I bit the big one.

He wasn't smiling. He wasn't angry. I can't even write down what I thought I saw in his face.

"I didn't do it," he said. "You know my work. How can you even think I would do something so utterly lacking in a good punchline? There's no laugh to be had from sinking your ship and leaving you _alive_. I was just going to leave you with a smile on your face."

"So you did have plans to kill me." It was almost a relief. "Now?" His face relaxed into its morbid grin.

"Now's good for me. Is it good for you?"

"I did have something I wanted to do first. You know, the vengeance. I was sort of hoping you could find out for me exactly who it is I'm mad at, here. Because Batman won't do it for me. He'd like to save me, the doofus. I don't know why, but he actually wants to save me. He's coming for you, by the way. I didn't tell him where to find you, but he's very interested in tracking you and the Riddler down. He'll be here, eventually."

"Because of information you gave him, regarding a partnership. Information you got from Smitty, am I right?"

"Yeah." Why lie? They found Mr. Smith's body in the Gotham River last week, so there's no more protecting him, is there?

"And after that, and everything else, you have the audacity to come here asking me for a favor?" He cackled. "That's why I like you, Chuckles. You may not have more balls than brains, but you make a darn good show of it." He stopped laughing. "What'll you give me if I help you?"

"I won't tell you who Batman is, and I won't kill him or get you close enough to do it yourself. He's put an awful lot of trust in me, and I won't betray that. But ask me for anything else, and I'm yours."---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lot of things you could call it, boss," I said. "Say I thought you might help me out for old time's sake. You're not that sentimental, but maybe I might be that dumb. Say maybe you owe me something. I haven't been keeping track of the wrongs and rights, but maybe there's something you'd like to square. Say I know your nature, or at least as much of it as anyone ever will. Maybe you'd like to do something unpredictable, freak the Bat a little. Say I haven't been smiling since I lost my boy, and I know how much you hate it when people stop smiling. Say I'm in this to win, but I don't care what happens after. Maybe even if you don't give me anything, you'll do for me what Superman wouldn't let me do for myself. In fact, I know you will. You were already thinking of it."

He thought about it.

"Do something _nice_ for someone, eh? Harley, get me a cape."

--

So the boss didn't kill me. Interesting. I wonder why. Warm feelings? Yeah. That's a laugh. Maybe because I asked him to. He was just being contrary. I'm afraid I've lost my faith in the other option.

--

Batman was furious when I got back. Worried just like my father, demanded to know where I'd been and what I'd been doing. I told him everything. Why lie?

He did catch the Riddler. Put him back in Arkham.

Told me not to go back to the Joker unless I was planning to stay. Sounded just like my mother.

They're dead, you know. My parents.

I seem to have only two emotions: sad and off. Just now, off.

--

You know, I went back and edited these things. For Mark. What if he went back and read the notebooks? I'd hate to be the one who taught him the F word. So I Xd them out and sometimes wrote new things in their places.

So what does that mean? That bowdlerization is a waste of time because we're all going to die anyway?

I feel like dropping F-bombs all up and down this page. But since this is almost the end of the page, I could only drop a few. And I don't really feel like it. Maybe someday some kid will read this and then I will have corrupted some kid who should have been Mark but wasn't.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to clean up my act or be a good role model for the kiddies, or anything. I still like to steal stuff, or at least I think I would. I'll still kill anyone I have to, anyone I should. I'm just lazy, in part. Lazy and tired, and I don't like the way the world is going anymore. I don't want to make it worse.

I don't want anything anymore.

I don't want anything.

Not one single thing.

I don't even want my revenge.

--

So here I am, staring at a bottle of sleeping pills.

--

My absorption with sleeping pills didn't go unnoticed. Batman and I just had a nice heart-to-heart. Good old Batty. It's almost like he's my friend. Or my father. Papa Bat.

He has such a sob story. Lost his parents as a little boy. Grew up oh-so-alone. Dedicated his life to avenging their deaths. But no amount of pounding on bad guys could ever bring them back. Holding on to the darkness never brought him back to the light. He couldn't keep his surrogate children, either.

Poor Caped Crusader. His sad, sad story has reaffirmed my faith in living.

Excuse me while I go away and vomit.

--

I'm no adventurer. I never have been and I never will be. I'm happy in the world I know—it isn't safe, but at least I know it. But you can't listen to all this babble without getting a little caught up in it.

I do feel a little better now. Thanks, Batman, for your awkward attempt at being my father figure.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Life is nothing more than riding the waves. We win, we lose, we live, we die.

They're here. Celia, Steph, Jason. They all showed up this morning. Bunch of damned idiots. ----- told them I was staying with him. Thought it would cheer me up to see my friends again. He doesn't get it.

I'll feel better when they go away.

Celia. My beautiful, witty friend who deserves a long and successful life. Jason. My green-eyed might-have-been who maybe, someday, still could be, I still believe in spite of everything. Stephanie. My too-sweet…friend…who I want to hate…but I can't quite bring myself to do it.

(The bitch.)

I wish they would just go.

--

Reading a book. Saw a photo of Mars. It looks…like Mars. What can I say? It's Mars. That's what it is. A sunny (but probably cold) Martian afternoon.

It's so alien. And yet…so familiar. Seeing the pictures brought me all the way back to fifth grade, and the Alien Group.

There were nine of us. Me, Celia, Amber, Corey, Nicole, Frances, Heather, Rachel, and Michelle. We each came from a different planet (and Frances came from the moon) to study Earth and report back to our parents. We were all space princesses, of course. Half the group was fighting for the longest time over who got to be from Mars. Nicole seized on it first, and Celia followed right after. I laid my claim next mainly to spite Celia. I loved to fight with her. We used to scream creative sexual insults at each other just for fun. She was the best, that tramp! That trollop! That demimondaine! That lady of the night! That BIFFER!

Damn, where did that come from? I'm crying.

--

I hate this goddamn place. Nowhere to cry alone.

At least nobody bothers me when I'm writing. When I sit just right, on the floor with my knees up, notebook against them, head bent so my hair hides everything.

When I was in high school and I got my first job, I started wearing my hair up. Then I had to learn to be stoic in public.

Have I lost that discipline?

--

Someone's coming. Have to write. Have to look busy.

But I don't have much left to say. Every time I try to write something, I wind up remembering and _crying._ I hate myself for this. I have lost my discipline. I'm a wuss. But damn it, all my memories hurt. Everything hurts. I'm ignoring you, Batman.

--

The Bat took me out for a ride in the Batplane (afterburners rock) and we had a serious little chat.

I think I hate him like I used to hate my parents. Best interests, my ass.

--

It isn't nice to hate.

--

I swear to God, I can't take all this pseudo-parenting crap. All this smothering "guidance" and "protection." The friendly little chats. He's teaching me to _drive_, for god's sake. My real dad didn't even do that.

--

Once upon a time. ONCE UPON A TIME. I'm sick of "once upon a time!" There is no time, and if there ever was, I was not upon it. This is no fairytale. There! Are! No! Fairies!

Magical powers notwithstanding. _I_ don't have any, now do I?

--

Once upon a time. Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Mark. A little boy named Mark who had just lost his last baby tooth. A little boy named Mark who liked to cook scrambled eggs. A little boy named Mark who couldn't handle himself after a chocolate ice cream cone. A little boy named Mark who wanted desperately to be grown-up. A little boy named Mark who liked to tell his surrogate mommy that he loved her.

That he loved her. A little boy named Mark.

--

What was he? And why did he come to me? Why was I allowed to love someone that much? Who sent him here? And why? And why was he taken away?

No, I will not whine about that. It's my fault. I killed him, you know, I know, and no amount of asinine questioning will take away my own responsibility.

Batman's a cruddy father figure, and I'm a cruddy mother. I let my boy die when he should have lived, and the Bat's making me live when I want to die. But I guarantee, the minute I do decide to live and be happy, something will kill me.

--

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Blah.

Thinking of the future. No more of that, stupid. Wallow in the past if you must, but don't you dare think of the future.

--

I want…

--

Still wondering…

--

What?

--

Tired of waiting for my answer. I'm going to go get cross-eyed and burn myself with hot glue. And then I'll try to eat my weight in M&Ms.

--

So many of these heroes have stories about overcoming adversity. Wonder Woman is an exile. Her sister-person Troia was kidnapped and forced to reincarnate and die horrid deaths, over and over. Raven's demon father raped her human mother. Superman's planet exploded. Only he and his dog were left alive. That's right, his dog. And his cousin Supergirl, I guess.

Well, so. I guess we're the advocates of lost causes and tragic pasts. Yeah, why not. We.

Maybe I'll do better this way.

--

Hi! I'm writing in my fucking "journal."

All my life I've thought about God. There is a god. There is not a god. Is there a god?

Now I know I don't care if there's a god or not. If there's not, fine. One less thing I'll have to deal with. And if there is, fat lot of good it'll do me down here. He isn't going to intervene. He doesn't reach His finger down to stir shit into my life. And he doesn't reach down to pluck me out of trouble, either. Unlike a real parent, this supposed Heavenly Father is willing to let me fuck things up for myself. Is that because he believes in me, or because he doesn't give a damn, or because he doesn't exist?

God doesn't give a damn. That's a good one.

--

Shit.

Nothing feels right.

--

_(There is a gap of several pages. Those toward the end have been neatly removed. The final page, however, is completely intact.)_

--

I'm ready to leave now. I've learned, I've grown, I've recovered. I still don't feel right, but I think I'm as "better" as I'm going to get.

I don't know where I'm going to go or what I'll do when I get there. But I can't stay here anymore. I'll never forget you, Bats. I'll _never_ stand against you. You're a good man.

I'll actually miss you.

I hope God will watch over you. I really do.

As for me, who knows?

There's got to be something left to do.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you for reading, everyone! This is the end of the _original_ series. I started a fifth Notebook, but scrapped it when I decided the idea was too silly. Having just watched the web cartoon, Gotham Girls, I guess the idea wasn't so silly after all...but my execution was less than stellar. Go watch the third season of Gotham Girls to see it done well. 

After a break of more than two years, another Notebook came out of the ether and insisted on being written. So in August and September 2006, Liss was a part of my life again. It came as quite a surprise, I can tell you. I consider these a separate series, since they go off in a wildly different direction than The Pink Notebook (abandoned late in 2004) and the original ending of The Black Notebook, regarding the identity of the killer.

(By the way, whoever you think it was, you're probably wrong.)

Apologies for the truth-bending in the disclaimer. Not all good things must come to an end...at least, not yet.

Jesteress, you rock!

And so does everyone else who's been reviewing so faithfully. You know, this is all for you.

Now, go read The Mildewed Notebook.


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